


Weird Family

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Dysfunctional Family, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some slice of life Clint/Pietro & Maximoff family time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird Family

> _[Ao3 link](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4036201). Some slice of life Clint/Pietro & Maximoff family time._

“Pietro?” There’s no response. Clint is sprawled on his back on the couch, and he rubs at one tired eye, looking up and around; the other man is  _nowhere_  to be seen.

“Pietro?” He calls the name for a second time.

Nothing. Clint rolls his eyes, and he slides off the couch, running his hand through his hair and leaning back and forth as he stretches his tired shoulders and his neck. Pietro  _isn’t_  to be seen in the kitchen, and he’s obviously not in the living room; Clint walks to the bedroom and dips his head in, but Pietro isn’t in there either.

Huh.

He grabs for his phone, and he sends the text with quick enough fingers.

          16: 47 | pietro  
         where are you?

                                                            16: 47 | Clint Barton   
                                          Decided to engage in expert masochism.

          16: 48 | pietro  
  i didnt kno ur dad was in town

 

                                                            16: 48 | Clint Barton  
                                           Nor did I. Apparently a familial reunion has  
                                        been organized; we’re in the Polish restaurant  
                                         two streets away. Myself, Wanda, my father,   
                                         William and Tommy. Your attendance is   
                                                              expected.

Clint all but ROLLS his eyes, and he’s about to reply, but Pietro gets there first. Of course he does - Stark had actually helped him  _design_  a smartphone with processing power to allow for his speed, which is just a  _great_  use of his genius and Pietro’s intelligence, of course.

                                                          16: 48 | Clint Barton  
                                       By “expected” I did mean to imply “required”.

        16: 59 | pietro  
   yeah i got that asshole

                                                           16: 59 | Clint Barton  
                                                           Whose asshole, pray?

        16: 59 | pietro  
           fuck you

                                                            16:59 | Clint Barton  
                                                                        :)  
                                                        Grammar’s important, Clint.

Clint puts his phone aside, pulling on a jacket, and then he makes his way down the street and over to the old place; it’s a little, family-owned establishment, and they get take-out from there now and then, and he’s not really surprised that it’s where Pietro tried to steer everyone.

He stops short in the doorway, but it’s not hard to spot them - three shocks of white hair and two people in bright red aren’t exactly hard to spot. Clint sidles over, and he slides unobtrusively into the seat beside Pietro, who immediately offers him a tense smile.

“ _Clint_.” Magneto says. His hair is starting to grow out again, but as it stands it’s only the same sort of length as Pietro’s silver; it’s weird, how similar they look now that their hair is so similar in style again. 

“Mr Lehnsherr, sir.” Clint says in a fake-polite voice, and although the SCOWL on the older man’s face is more than terrifying, but Tommy gives a snigger, and Wanda hides a smile behind her wrist as Pietro regards his father with raised eyebrows. “So, what’s with the family reunion?” Lorna is conspicuously absent, but he doesn’t comment on it. He’ll ask  _later_.

“Father enjoys inflicting his personality upon us as punishment for our sins.” Pietro says in a light tone, looking at Clint.

“This was my idea.” Billy says, with slight offence on his features.

“My apologies, William,” Pietro says, and then he turns to Clint again and explains, “My least favourite nephew is a sentimentalist, and an idiot.”

“You are not allowed to RANK us!” Billy says sharply as Clint tries  _really_ , really hard not to laugh at Pietro’s commentary, apparently in tandem with Wanda. 

“Yes he is, bro!” Tommy crows with  _obvious_  triumph, and Billy  _glares_  at him.

“Of course I am. It’s a family precedent. Father here actually ranks Wanda and I  _both_  after a child who isn’t even alive, as  _well_  as after Lorna, of course.”

“So glad you brought your vault of  _bitterness_  to the family gathering, Pietro.” Erik says dryly, and then adds, “I’m glad your personality is so much warmer than usual.”

“So glad you brought your own in the form of your eternal preference for your dead child, Father.” Sometimes Clint feels awkward about his relationship with his brother, but this almost always fades away after around  _twenty seconds_  of Pietro talking with his father. 

“Where is YOUR boyfriend, Billy?” Wanda interrupts, and when Erik attempts to keep talking she elbows him  _hard_  in the side with a sharp movement, affecting him to stare at her but go silent. Clint tries not to feel weird about the fact that Pietro and Erik are glowering, unblinking, across the table at each other like two angry cats.

“Oh, he’s out of state at the moment.” Billy says, but, taking advantage of the silence his mother had helpfully created. “But what I wanted to talk about his Channukkah this year, I thought we could all get together? Us and Lorna, and Teddy, and Grandpa, maybe Natasha? And er, like- I just thought it could be a really great family thing- and, er, maybe Luna...?” He glances at Pietro as he says the latter, and Pietro’s jaw shifts. 

Clint  _feels_  Pietro tense up beside him, and he leans in a little closer; the relaxation is minute, but he can feel it. 

“Perhaps.” Pietro says very quietly. “I don’t celebrate Channukkah.”

“Nor do I.” Tommy says helpfully. “But I’m GENTILE.”

“Child, just because I taught you the word does not mean you need to use it at every opportunity.” Erik says tiredly, and Clint can’t help but be  _amused_  at how EXHAUSTING he seems to find his grandson.  _Everyone_  finds Tommy exhausting, of course, except Pietro. 

“I know. I just like using it.” Tommy says with a grin. Pietro’s lips twitch, Clint notices with the corner of his eye. 

“I, uh, sorry. I thought you did.” Billy says. “Because Mom and Grandpa-”

“Wanda and Father  _do_. To my awareness, Lorna does also. I do not, and nor does Luna. Nor do I celebrate Christmas, or my birthday.”

“That’s because you’re about eighty, though.” Clint supplies, and Tommy laughs. 

“Nonetheless.” Pietro shifts in his seat under his nephew’s gaze, and then he says, “But I can be  _civil_  at a family meeting, and I could invite Luna. I send Wanda small tchotchkes regularly enough, and Channukkah could be-- nice.”

“There’s actually a Jewish store in this neighbourhood. He practises Yiddish on Fridays.” Clint supplies. Erik, surprised by this, tilts his head slightly, and when he glances at his son it’s with an almost smile.

"This is exactly why I insisted you join us, Clint,” Wanda says in a warm, affectionate tone, and Clint smiles at her even as Pietro pinches the meat of his thigh. “You really add context to Pietro’s anger.”

“He really adds secreted details.” Pietro glares at Erik. “Stop being proud of me. I can  _see_  it, and it’s annoying.”

“I’m always proud of you, child.” Erik says, tone insincere and words completely sincere. This family is so weird, and apparently Billy and Wanda consider him a part of it, which is always fun.

“Shut up.” Pietro grumbles.

“I wish he’d say he’s proud of me.” Tommy complains.

“I’m proud of you.” Pietro and Wanda say at the same time.

“Egh, you guys aren’t as cool as he is.”

“I’m your mother.”

“I can WALK THROUGH WALLS.” 

“You cannot walk through walls.” Tommy says. “I’d’ve seen it on TV!”

“I  _can_  walk through walls.” Pietro says. “Look-”

“Do NOT walk through the wall of this restaurant.” Erik says sternly, and Pietro leans innocently on Clint’s shoulders.

“You’re so heavy.” Clint complains.

“It’s from my buff-as-Hell arms.” Pietro says, entirely, if Clint’s judgement is right, to see his nephews wince at the faux-attempt to use modern slang. He looks up as the starters arrive, and Clint looks from Tommy to Pietro, watching the way both of them look slightly disappointed by the amount, and the way their faces light up when a waitress brings out a separate, more piled tray for the two of them.

 ---

“You ever think you and your dad are going to be nicer to each other?” Clint asks as they walk home later on. “Because you’re normally  _decent_  to each other once you’ve gotten over the initial, uh, death threats and stuff.”

“I didn’t threaten his life.” Pietro says with (in Clint’s opinion) unjustified indignation.

“Not today.” Clint agrees, and Pietro, for a second or two, looks smug. Idiot. “But really, will you, do you think? You don’t really  _hate_  the guy, do you?”

“On the contrary, I most certainly do hate him.” Pietro says bluntly, but then adds, in a softer tone, “But I do love him. He’s my father.”

“He’s kind of a dick.” Clint says, by way of agreement. “But he loves you too, pretty sure.”

“He does love me, yes. And he is most certainly a dick.”

“You’re a dick too, you know.”

“Ah, the sweet words whispered by a lover.”

“You ARE.”

“So are  _you_.”

“I’m not a  _dick_ , why am I a dick?”

“It’s your hair. Your hair is pretentious.”

“My hair is pretentious? You use like nine products in yours! I just get out of bed and go.”

“ _Precisely_.”

“Pietro!” Pietro turns to look up at him, and he’s smirking, the bastard. Clint grins despite himself. “You want to get a dog?”

“Pardon?”

“A dog. A canine. They walk on four legs.”

“You have a dog.”

“Not one that  _lives_  with me.”

“We have a white sofa.”

“We could get a brown sofa.” Pietro looks at him like he’s just suggested Pietro should get a photorealistic tattoo of Clint’s ass on his own thigh. “Not a big dog.”

“I don’t want  _any_  dog.”

“There’s this whippet puppy-”

“Oh, no-”

“We could call him QUICKSILVER-”

“No!” Clint BEAMS at him, and Pietro meets his gaze for a few long moments.

“Are whippets the small version of the racing hounds?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They’re intelligent?”

“Yep.” Pietro presses his lips together, and then they set off to walk together again. 

“Keep talking, then.”

“Aw, YES! Okay, so he’s six months old, and he’s so tiny--”

“I have seen these dogs, and they are not  _tiny_.”

“Yeah, yeah, but tiny for a whippet-”


End file.
